From the Redneck Diva:
For as long as there have been people, there has been news. It probably started when Og thumped his saber-toothed tiger bone on the cave wall to alert the tribe his wife had just had their first boy-child. Then he graffiti’d up his cave walls to tell future generations. It progressed to squires dashing across the countryside to alert the neighboring village of a dragon attack. Then years later came the Pony Express where brave men on strong horses galloped through the prairies to deliver the news of stage coach robberies, train robberies, and bank robberies. Eventually came the invention of the telegraph. Then the telephone. Then television. (This is where the oldsters would add “and tell-a-woman!” then slap their knee.) And the finally the Internet.
Unlike our ancestors we don’t have to wait for ponies or pigeons or smoke signals. We just log on, sign in, and boom! we’re connected to a virtually endless source of information and news.
But is it too much?
I have written before about my addictions to Twitter and Facebook and how I have deep meaningful relationships with most of my electronics. But sometimes even I wonder if I’m too connected. Back in June I decided to cut myself off from Twitter. I made the decision after I realized I had gotten so used to my phone chirping that I didn’t even hear it anymore. My husband said he heard that ringtone in his sleep. But that may have been because it was going off while he slept. I turned off all mobile alerts and even updated less. It was strangely refreshing. I have since begun tweeting more, but the mobile alerts have stayed off. I check it from the Web and that’s it. It feels pretty good, even though sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on something. When I feel that way, though, I just tell myself that there really was a time in my life I wasn’t digitally connected to the 361 people I follow on Twitter—only 56 of whom I have actually met in real life. This isn’t bad, the gratuitous sharing of information with 305 strangers…I don’t think it’s bad anyway…is it? Let me ask my 361 friends and I’ll get back to you.
And then there’s Facebook. Facebook is a little more personal for me. I know virtually every one of my Facebook friends, except for a few who follow my blog page and friended me from there. And here’s where my quandary begins. Is Facebook too personal?
In the past few weeks I have read about the death of a teenager who was tragically electrocuted, a nine-year-old who fell off playground equipment and passed away, and a 15-year-old who was killed by a drunk driver. Now granted, I probably would have learned about these accidents on the local news if I weren’t a Facebook user, but because of Facebook I knew about these accidents mere hours after they happened, some in great detail, and all were splattered on update after update, page after page.
If it were my child, how would I handle such information being broadcast in such a sensationalized way? Would I embrace the outpouring of concern that immediately followed the news? Would I be angered at how flippantly people talked about the accident, not thinking that maybe I don’t want to see the news—my news—over and over and over, written and re-written by people I don’t know, and will likely never know?
The day after the playground accident I followed a trail of comments out of pure curiosity as to how a family member was handling the death that was being made so very public, so very personal, so very constant. I landed on the little girl’s older brother’s page where he was lamenting not being able to hug his sister ever again. He was thanking everyone for their concern, their offerings of help, their prayers, their words of comfort. And while I was happy to see that he was seemingly okay with the outpouring, I didn’t stay long. I felt like I had stumbled into a room where I knew no one and was a total stranger. It seemed like I was intruding.
And then it occurred to me: I was.
For as long as I’ve been alive I’ve heard the phrase time and again, “What’s this world coming to?”, which is usually uttered when you hear of people leaving their babies in hospital doorways and walking away. Or maybe when an elderly woman is mugged while putting her groceries in her car at the grocery store. Or perhaps when neighbors hears a woman being beaten inside her home by her boyfriend or husband, but no one will help her or call for help for fear of getting involved in a situation that is none of their business. All of those instances where one certainly has to wonder where is the human good? Where does it hide in times like that? Have we watered down all of our goodness until it’s merely apathy?
Or have we taken it to another extreme at the same time?
We are a society where we are in each others’ business all the time. Friendships are torn apart by gossip and slander on someone’s “wall.” Teenagers’ reputations are destroyed by cyber-bullying. Comments are misconstrued. Emotions are splattered across the Internet like so much paint in a ceiling fan. We know things about our friends that we shouldn’t know. We know where they are, what they eat, when they go to bed, when they are alone, and when they aren’t.
Is our concern so bipolar that it flips from non-caring to too much caring in cycles? Do we turn a blind eye to the homeless man asking for work or food or diapers then that same afternoon not even hesitate to gossip about our neighbor, intrude upon grieving, or comment on a subject about which we have no business commenting?
I don’t have an answer to these questions. I would like to think we could find a nice balance of concern and empathy and compassion, but I’m not sure we can. I think we are a society of extremes. It’s all or nothing, baby. Can we change? Can I change?
Maybe if we all took our laptops off our laps for awhile, drove to a friend’s house, and face-to-face asked them, “How are you—really?” we might be able to find an answer.
Diva
Kristin Hoover is the Redneck Diva. A local blogger and stay-at-home mom, Kristin has won Okie Blog Awards for her humorous take on the rural life of a natural-born diva who married a redneck and produced three offspring. Visit her online at http://www.theredneckdiva.com and http://therhok.com.